Study On The Substantial Differences Between
by mymistrust
Summary: "STUDY ON THE SUBSTANTIAL DIFFERENCES BETWEEN MIRRORED IMAGES" \\ COMPLETE! \\ Olivia does what she does best: rationalise. And Peter isn't exactly any different.
1. The Substantial Differences

**TITLE:** Study On The Substantial Differences Between Mirrored Images

**AUTHOR**: Lipsum (Mistrust)

**FANDOM**: Fringe

**SPOILERS**: Up to Concentrate And Ask Again (312).

**GENRE:** Angst Angst Angst Angst

**RATING:** PG

**WARNINGS**: Do not archive without my knowledge. Written by a non-native English speaker. Not proof-read. Pardon me.

**SUMMARY**: Olivia does what she does best: rationalising.

**NOTES**: This is a post-Concentrate And Ask Again story, meaning: the author is a complete mess. That being said, so is my Olivia Duhnam. Also, I'm kind of a sadist. So, my Olivia Duhnam suffers a lot. I won't get into the matters of the Machine just yet, but let's see.

* * *

**STUDY ON THE SUBSTANTIAL DIFFERENCES BETWEEN MIRRORED IMAGES**

**by Lipsum**

_He still has feelings for her._

Olivia downs yet another shot of whiskey and feels nothing. Her throat is already numb, along with her whole body, lying still on the sofa. The brief note Simon had given her is being used as a paper towel after she spilled some of her whiskey a while ago – she doesn't need the physical evidence for something that is already internalised on her, already doing its dirty work, already damaging her from inside out, already ripping her open without mercy.

The problem is, her mind isn't as numb as the rest of her, and she can't help the thoughts, exactly the ones she is trying so hard to keep at bay, to keep from tearing her apart.

_He still has feelings for her._

Of course he does.

Why wouldn't he?

She shuts her eyes and exhales.

_When I'm with PB I find myself forgetting why I'm here._

_Coffee with milk._

_She's much quicker with a smile._

_Olivia, I'm sorry._

It always takes her a lot of whiskey to shut her mind – she is very alcohol-resistant, ever since she started drinking, and sometimes this is a problem. Like at that very moment, when all she wants is to slip into the comfortable numbness that only drunkenness can bring you. She knows it isn't peace of mind, but it is something that feels a lot like it.

Or at least, the closest thing she ever gets from peace of mind in the past two years.

Her eidetic memory doesn't help either.

She just can't stop the flood of thoughts.

_Please, don't tell Peter._

_For how long did you know?_

_You belong with me._

But he didn't.

He didn't belong with_ her_ – Olivia had made a mistake, and now she is wondering if she isn't paying for that mistake right now. But how could she know?

How could anyone have expected her to rationalise while she was on the other side? But again, she is pride to say that she can see intricate patterns where no one else can... So how could she miss it? How could she not _entertain_ the possibility?

There is another Olivia Duhnam Over There. There is another version of her (a _better_, untraumatised version of her), on the side _he was born._ On the side from where he was _stolen._

She downs another shot, and this time, she is filled with a slight dizziness that would have made her sway if she was standing.

There. Much better.

She is very aware of how selfish she is being. But yet, she thinks her selfishness is only human. No one would act differently, she ponders, and this thought comforts her a teensy bit.

..._He was stolen_. That's no denying it.

Of course he still has feelings for her.

_Of course_.

She takes a deep breath a ventures getting up, and the room spins rapidly around her.

Olivia allows herself to flop down on the sofa once again. She can sleep there tonight, after all, it won't be like it was the first time.

He was stolen from her, and the intruder is not the other _her_, but her herself. This Olivia Duhnam, lying drunk on the sofa, all by her lonesome, in a house that still feels foreign to her, and yet she refuses to move – because then it would be like saying she wasn't strong enough to deal with this... even though she wasn't.

She was the intruder.

The uninvited.

She had lost Peter a long time ago – she had lost him to his disease, when he was just a child. She had lost him log before she could ever _have_ him.

Peter belonged with her – only, he was the wrong Peter.

And for a split second there, Olivia feels like she has stepped into Peter's shoes.

How would she act if she had to choose between two Peters? How would she act if "her" Peter was replaced with other Peter, from another universe?

_It wasn't me. How could you not see that?_

Now she understands how.

Now she sees it clearly.

And it hurts. A lot.

He couldn't see because it _was_ her – it was the _right_ her.

A betterfied version of herself. That's how she came to think of the other Olivia – free of the cortexiphan tests, free of drunk stepfather, free of the sight of her mother's dead body when she was fourteen, free of burden that was Charlie's death... Free.

It could have been her – Olivia is very aware of that. But it wasn't. And it would never be. She could never be the right Olivia to Peter – bright smiles, carefree, seductive, playful. Because it just isn't her, it isn't what she is, what she had become over the years.

He loves Olivia Duhnam – it doesn't matter from which universe. If other Olivias were out there, Peter would be bound to love any of them, as would other Olivias, bound their Peters.

This Olivia was just the wrong one, she thinks, as she feels her eyelids drooping.

She forgets about the whiskey. She doesn't have the strength to pick it up and pour another shot. The alcohol is finally getting to her cortexiphan-intoxicated brain. Olivia will finally slip into that comfortable feeling of numbness.

It'll be all gone by tomorrow morning, the only trace of her sleepless night being the dark circles under her eyes – but again, that wouldn't be quite out of the ordinary. Everyone has already adapted to her drained self since she came back.

It'll be all gone by tomorrow morning.

It'll be all gone.

But it won't be fine.

* * *

NOTE: More to come. Expect some Peter's POV ahead.


	2. How Can I Hurt When I'm Holding You?

**WARNINGS**: Do not archive without my knowledge. Written by a non-native English speaker. Not proof-read. Pardon me.

**CHAPTER RATING:** R (The F word is used. Blink and you'll miss it).

* * *

– **CHAPTER 2 –**

**HOW CAN I HURT WHEN I'M HOLDING YOU?**

Weaponised.

That's the word Walter used. Peter isn't even sure if it exists on the dictionary. He doesn't check though. He won't. He _refuses_ to take his father's words seriously. Walter is just being Walter – overreacting, reading too much into it, _worrying_ too much about him, as he usually does.

Lying in his bed, all alone in the house, and with his father gone with Astrid to browse for god only knows what, Peter can breathe at last and think things through. Those were rare moments, when he would find himself away from Walter _and_ Olivia all at once. After all, his job never leaves him many options: he is either with his father on the lab, or either with Agent Duhnam chasing after some criminal. With the latter, he has far too many unresolved matters to be at ease, and with Walter, things are only getting worse.

Peter refuses to give in to his father's delusions. He's perfectly fine, and absolutely conscious of what he is doing. Nothing is taking control over him, nor is his temper being changed by an outside force – such as a doom's day machine that was much likely built by an ancient people who lived before the dinosaurs. That would be overly far-fetched – even for them, working on the Fringe Division.

The truth is much simpler: Peter has merely grown tired of doing nothing but react when they keep attacking them mercifully.

In fact, Peter has grown tired of _many_ things in his life, most of them work-related. For starters, he has a hard time calling his role on the Fringe Division a "job". It is more likely a "life", and this thought alone is enough to bother him.

Also, there is Walter.

There is _always _Walter. After all, he is the reason why Peter finds himself where he is now – and this sentence is true in every possible interpretation, he thinks bitterly, while sitting up on the bed and leaning against the wall, the thoughts making him too restless to just lay there.

Things had been different, colder, between Peter and Walter, since the events Over There. He knows and he _feels_ that he will never be able to completely love Walter as a father any more – he was trying and almost achieving that goal short before he found out the truth. Now, however, things are different, but they are handling a civilised, _almost_ father-son relationship, albeit the new light that the truth has cast on Walter. At some stressful nights, he feels like snapping at his father with some harsh comment, but before he can summon those words, he looks into Walter eyes and he sees it – he doesn't have to remind him of that. In the past two years, his father has become gradually aware of all the damages he has inflicted on the world(s) and on other people, and these ghosts are now a constant presence around him. Peter feels it's only fair, so he holds back the urge to inflict more pain upon that man who is, all the at once, the reason for all his pain and all his (brief) joy.

Peter reaches out for his nightstand and grabs a coin, which isn't there by accident – he already has it strategically placed for his use when he wants to let some of his stress out. Since he got back from the Other Side, he has flipped over that coin far too many times...

After the shapeshifters killings, though, things have become almost insufferable on the Bishop's residence, and from time to time Peter has found himself snapping at Walter. The man just won't let go of his son's actions, even though Peter has a clean conscience about it. He knows he wasn't doing anything wrong – it might seem brutal, he admits that much, but it wasn't _wrong_ per se.

And then there is Olivia. Or Olivias.

Those work moments (meaning, his _entire life_) he shares with her have grown exponentially oppressive to Peter – and lately, even the _spare_ times he happens to share (even if briefly and completely by accident) with Olivia makes him feels like he has a knife stuck to his windpipe, of which he can just get rid when he's away from her.

That thought, he thinks, is even more painful than the knife itself.

Peter gets up from his bed and walks towards the desk, covered with entries from the other Olivia's journal, scattered and with markings he made on important passages.

_Olivia. _The name echoes in his mind, and without noticing, Peter drops the coin.

He misses her.

He misses their talks, and the easiness between them while bantering, and the way she would smile coyly when he snapped a smart-ass comment about something. He misses the other Olivia, the Olivia before she went Over There, that would share a rare laugh with him once in a while, and who truly enjoyed his company. Since she got back, she isn't the same – "isolated" doesn't even start to describe her. She has never been an easy person to socialise, but lately, it was a whole new level of aloof. What had hurt the most was how eager she was to be around him before he cut her off with his truth. Now he doesn't even have the bond they shared, the friendship that went beyond romance.

He knows she needs time to think it through. He knows she needs her breathing space right now. He knows she won't be able to look into his eyes for quite some time. He knows it will take her even longer to forgive him. He knows a lot of things when it comes to Olivia Duhnam – but knowing things doesn't make it any less painful.

_I don't wanna be with you_.

That statement hurt him in several different levels – more than he could grasp or understand. It felt worse than discovering about the other Olivia's true identity. It felt worse than the betrayal, the lies, the bitterness, the confusion and unfairness of it, when he thought his chest might burst with pain. It felt worse than the guilt he feels over _thinking_ of the other Olivia, and how he still cherishes the moments they had together.

Because he does.

He thinks about those moments a lot. He just can't help it.

After reading her notes, the ones regarding him, the ones mentioning him so dearly, Peter felt light-headed, and for a split second he forgot about his goal – to find out pertinent info about the ones from Over There and the Device.

He doesn't know what to make of it. He doesn't know what to make of himself and of what he feels about the two women who are the same and are both in love with him.

The pain is physical.

He feels physically ill when he thinks about the Olivias, and his blindness, and his feelings towards the other Olivia, and his love for his Olivia, and all the good moments that now he has to turn into bad ones even though they were wonderful and gave him the unmistakable feeling of belonging and oh god how the fuck could all of that be even possible or bearable in one's life...

It isn't right.

It isn't _fair_.

No one should have to choose between two versions of the same person.

But yet, who in this world had faced this kind of problem?

Peter laughs bitterly. No one, of course. And somehow, he is supposed to be the one to go through the absurdity of it all and remain sane and righteous. How is he supposed to do that, he thinks, as he pulls a drawer open and picks up two different photos – one, with the other Olivia, making all sorts of faces to the camera. The other, with the Olivia from this universe, a picture taken almost by accident.

He doesn't have the eidetic memory of Olivia, but he remembers that day in full details. Walter was making an experiment that required a camera and Astrid snapped a photo of Peter and Olivia talking, and by yet another accident, it was right on the moment that Olivia smiled at him.

_Olivia_.

She never asked for a copy of the photo, but Peter was eager to have his. It was the only picture they had together that didn't involve a crime scene where they were into frame by accident.

He puts down the two photos and sighs.

He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to feel. His mind races in a million different directions, but all of them lead to the same place: a dead end. How can things feel so wrong when he is so close from the ones he loves?

Peter hears the door being opened downstairs, and muffled voices. "Peter, son, we're back!" he hears Walter calling out.

His brief moment of quietness flies out the window without waving goodbye, leaving him with only a heavy sigh and the burden of two worlds and two Olivias in his shoulders.

His Olivia won't let him breathe anymore.

_She needs time,_ he tells himself. "Son! Please, come downstairs! You're going to _love_ what we bought you!"

Peter gives the desk a small punch, irritated. "Gimme a second!"

He has been patient. He has given her all the space she can possibly need – and even then he knows it isn't enough, but there is not much else he can do about it.

Sha makes him feel like he doesn't belong. Anywhere. Not here, with her, not Over There, with the other her. He is trapped is some kind of void between the two worlds, from where he can only watch her from a distance, but never claim her to himself.

Amidst the confusion and the unfairness of all things, Peter knows what he has to do. He has already set himself into a mission, one that will have tangible conclusions.

He needs this mission. He craves it. He'd go insane if he doesn't have a mission. Olivia would drive him insane, so he sets off to something other than her.

The Device.

Peter will figure it out.

Peter will figure it out in order to save everyone. Walter is mistaken: he isn't doing anything wrong. He can't possibly be doing anything wrong. He wants to save them all, over here and over there.

And then, maybe Olivia will be able to look into his eyes without killing him with her grief.

Maybe.

"Son!"

"Coming!" Peter takes a deep breathe before opening his bedroom's door and stepping outside.

* * *

**END NOTES**: Title was taken from an U2's song called "**A Man and a Woman**".

Ok, now: this is Peter's POV. It doesn't mean that everything that he thinks is right. I, for once, do believe that the machine has changed him somehow, even if it is only regarding the lack of regret he has about killing those shapeshifters. And, poor Walter. It takes a bad man to recognise another.

I think we'll have two more chapters to end all this angst once and for all. Sorry if I rambled too much with Peter, it's just that he's my favourite character and to me he is in a whole new level of Screwed Up – I know Olivia has been through some big sh!t herself, but I don't think she has as much going on as Peter does right now on the show.

Also, I'm changing the story's rating. I think we'll have a lil' more swearing ahead, but nothing too exaggerated, I hope.


	3. The Sadness Of Another

**WARNINGS**: Do not archive without my knowledge. Written by a non-native English speaker. Not proof-read. Pardon me.

**NOTES:** If any of you fringies have forgotten: A DEMON'S TWIST RUSTS. Don't trust Sam Weiss! Also, I still feel like Peter is hiding things from us, even after the "6B" episode.

I have to apologise. I am so very sorry for delaying this chapter for so long! My plan was to post it after 3x13, but since that episode was set on the Redverse, I didn't have the canon material I needed to keep writing this and keeping it truthful to the show. But now we got it, and how pleased (and surprised!) I was to see Peter and Olivia making amends. Still, I'm no fool and am waiting for the big shit to finally hit the fan and screw everything up – yeah, I am that poetic. Writers better run to write their fluff and smut and sappy stories before the power that be take that from us.

* * *

– **CHAPTER 3 –  
THE SADNESS OF ANOTHER**

* * *

_The Wind is ghosting around the house tonight  
and as I lean against the door of sleep  
I begin to think about the first person to dream,  
how quiet he must have seemed the next morning

* * *

_

Peter Bishop can't sleep.

Since the night he received that call from a stranger telling him that Olivia was trapped in another universe, Peter can't sleep. The longest night of sleep he had since then was barely a few days ago, when they had managed something that resembled bonding while Olivia was wearing one fancy dress and astounding red lipstick that gave him all kinds of unchristian thoughts (and memories, if he was to be honest with himself).

That night, he managed a nap of fifty minutes straight, only to wake up startled.

Because if Peter Bishop can't sleep, he can sure as hell dream all kinds of bad dreams. It seems like the inability of sleeping did not deprive him of nightmares, all of them involving Olivia in some level. Even when he dreams about the Machine, even when he is trapped on it somehow, with fire coming out of his eyeballs, Olivia's figure still manages to break through his pained mind and unsettles him even more – she would always watch him from a distance, while he screamed for her help. She'd carry a sadness that would rip him open before the Machine did.

Tonight, though, Peter's dream isn't about the doomsday machine.

Tonight Peter's dream is about Olivia – both Olivias, actually.

As he lay in his bedroom, dimly lit by his desk lamp, he twists around nervously, and grunts under his breath. He's still wearing jeans and jacket, and he has fallen asleep over the covers, while reading once again the other Olivia's journal, now scattered all around the floor – but they were probably with him on the bed before he could give in to his tiredness.

His nervous motions and the thin layer of sweat on his brow have one source only: now he dreams about Olivia Duhnam from Over There and Olivia Duhnam from Over Here, and his body can't help but answer with the symptoms of a fever.

* * *

_He might have gone off by himself to sit  
__on a rock and look into the mist of a lake

* * *

_

They're inside of a house.

It's Olivia's house, but it's different and unfurnished. He can tell though, with an assurance that you only have in your dreams, that is Olivia's house.

She cries out for him, "_Peter!_", but the scream comes from different directions, as if many Olivias were calling for him – and suddenly the house is too big and too vacant for one to feel safe. "_Peter, I'm in here!_" And again, the scream comes from everywhere.

He doesn't know where to go – so instead he stands still, thinking out loud, growing nervous: "_Which one of you is the real Olivia?_"

And suddenly, their voices are very close and their whisper echoes around the house causing him to shiver: "_Don't be silly, we're both real"_. They're now standing in front of him, the two Olivias, both blondes, both wearing the same outfit, even though when he wakes up he'll be unable to tell what it was, and they stare intently at him.

"_I miss you, don't you miss me?" "She wasn't me" "...I find myself forgetting why I'm here" "You belong with me" "I love this song" "How could you not see that?" "...it became something more" "...help me..." "...love you..." "...you belong..." "...really miss..." "how could you..." "...happily ever after" "PETER!"_

He wakes up almost falling out of his bed, and it takes all his might not to cry out loud – so instead, he lowers his head in his hands and swallows hard, for Peter Bishop isn't a man of tears. Not even when his father was institutionalised. Not even when he left home forever. Not even when his mother committed suicide. Not even when Olivia Duhnam was missing from her car and appeared one hour later crashing through the windshield.

Peter Bishop did not surrender to the luxury of tears.

He would gulp, and gasp, and swallow hard and feel choking to death until he felt like being ripped open, but he did not give in to the luxury of tears. He did not give in to the luxury of releasing his pain.

Because he deserves it. Or at least, he always thinks he does. He screws up. He fails people. He is too late for them sometimes. Then he runs away for a god forsaken place. That is Peter Bishop: this is how he rolls.

When Olivia was facing her last breathing moments, while laying on that hospital bed, he allowed himself soft sobs, sitting anonymously on a bar stool, holding a glass of whiskey, wondering how he could be late for her... Then he got up and walked aimlessly for a while, tears welling up on his eyes, until he let them fall.

That was when he realised It.

* * *

_as he tried to tell himself what had happened,  
__how he had gone somewhere without going,

* * *

_

It wasn't something he had been musing over for too long, or something that crossed his mind as being anything but a highly unlikely and far-fetched possibility, a secret wish that would humour him through the night – but there It was.

_Love_.

The word scratches the walls of his head as chalk, scribbling things he cannot fully grasp.

It is consuming him. It is burning him.

It is taking the very life out of him.

It is there.

So as he sits up on his bed and takes deep breathes, he wonders how long he can take it.

Because if Peter Bishop isn't a man of tears, he is a man of patience. He would give Olivia all the time and the breathing space she needs. He would take all the blows she wants to throw at him, and he will keep his polite distance for as long as she says so.

He will do whatever she says, for as long as it takes... Sometimes though, like that very moment, after waking up from a nightmare involving two Olivias, he wonders if he is able to do what he promised himself – he wonders if he is able to wait forever.

So here are a few facts about Peter Bishop, of which he has become surprisingly aware in the past weeks:

Peter Bishop can't sleep, although he can dream.

Peter Bishop isn't a man of tears, but a man of patience.

Peter Bishop can take all the blows without complaining and wait for a long, long time, if that's what it takes.

But sometimes... Sometimes Peter Bishop isn't himself.

* * *

_Then again, the first dream could have come  
to a woman, though she would behave,  
I suppose, much the same way,  
moving off by herself to be alone near water,

* * *

_

They haven't seen a lot of each other lately, and Olivia Duhnam is very aware of this fact, though no words will come out of her mouth about it. Not even to her bedroom's walls.

So instead, she entertains her mind with old case files involving the Pattern, and with long runs on the park and a lot of exercise – not that she needs to work out so much, but the physical effort cleans her mind and leaves her with a sore body to worry about, erasing any uncomfortable thoughts or feelings she might have.

However... _He still has feelings for her. _If Simon could read her mind, he would think her brain was a damaged vinyl, playing the same sentence over and over and over and _over_ again.

_Of course he does_, she would add to her first thought, and she couldn't blame him. The other one... The other _Olivia,_ she stole not only Olivia's identity in this world, she also stole Peter, or any potential relationship they could have. She had damaged them for good.

God, how she had struggled with herself when she said that he belonged with her...

Olivia shakes her head and increases her pace. She is going back home, after a two-hour run through the neighbourhood, that would leave her tired enough to take her shower then down two shots of whiskey and crashes on her bed.

Peace of mind, that's how she calls it.

When Olivia gets home, though, she changes her mind. She will have the whiskey while enjoying a long bubble bath. Yeah, definitely a bubble bath.

Already stripped to her underwear, Olivia is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of her cell phone ringing. "Damn it".

She goes for it on the kitchen table and checks the screen. _Peter_.

Of course. Who else?

She considers ignoring his call. She considers being rude with him. She even considers some soft words, after all, they did need to work together, and she misses their bonding. But instead, what she manages is her usual detached tone that she has been using at Peter since she burst in front of him. "Duhnam".

* * *

_except that the curve of her young shoulders  
__and the tilt of her downcast head  
__would make her appear to be terribly alone,

* * *

_

"Hey, 'Livia"

"Something came up?" She asks, all business. She can't manage non-work related calls with Peter anymore.

"Hmm, no". God, please, don't make that a non-work related call from Peter. She braces herself. "It's just Walter being Walter. It seems like he was reading his file on Simon Phillips on the bathroom and he has mistaken it with..."

"Oh" Olivia lets out a sigh of relief, and at the same time she thinks of how silly she was to imagine he would call to talk about... them. Peter never pushes her, and for that she is glad. "Do you want me to get him a copy from my files?"

"Yeah, I tried to call Astrid but she was running some errands, I didn't want to overload her with it".

"I'll drop by later, then."

"Ok, thanks."

"Ok."

* * *

_and if you were there to notice this,

* * *

_

They are broken.

They both know it. They both heard it, in each other's voices. They are mirrored images of each other's pain.

Now Olivia will prepare her bubble bath and instead of downing two glasses of whiskey, she'll down six, until the water gets cool and the bubbles are all gone, and she will be only left with shivers and a numb broken body, barely capable of getting up.

Peter, on his own house, will busy his mind with the Device and its intricate design, but he will find himself staring blankly at his notes while his mind wanders far away, farther than he can understand, to be there by Olivia's side, watching over her. Then he will get up and have not one, but six beers.

They are just the same.

And they both know it.

* * *

_you might have gone down as the first person  
__to ever fall in love with the sadness of another._

[ **The First Dream **_by Billy Collins _]

* * *

**END NOTES:** I'd like to thanks everyone who has been keeping track of this story, I'm happy to see you are all enjoying it! A special thanks goes to the ones who took their time and reviewed it. Thank you very much!

I've cut out bits of this poem, and I also messed with the structure of the stanzas. If you like it, google it for the full thing.

Mirrors are not only about you and your reflection. You can see other people there too, looking at you through your own eyes, sharing joy and pain. They are not the same, they have its differences, but it is a reflection nonetheless. And if you felt like I was giving Peter more light on this one, you're absolutely right. I just can't help writing Peter's POV. I just can't.

So. I'm finished. I know I said there would be a fourth chapter, but I'm not liking it as it is, so I guess I'll be done here, before I can royally screw this up.

Reviews? Anyone? =)

Oh, and before I forget, my **DISCLAIMER:** Not mine. Thanks for asking.


End file.
